Intersection
by trollnexus
Summary: In which Blaise falls in love with a man who appreciates the silences as well as the sounds.


**Title: **Intersection

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter, blah blah blah.

**Pairings:** Blaise Zabini/Terry Boot, because that was the first thing that came to mind when I was told to write a rarepair with a Ravenclaw in it.

**Rating:** T, unfortunately. Maybe I'll return with an M-rated sequel if I feel interested enough in this idea. Or write a completely different story later on.

**Warnings:** Long paragraphs? Other than that, it's a pretty tame story. Mostly me visualizing a Blaise that would even want a Terry.

**Summary:** In which Blaise falls in love with a man who appreciates the silences as well as the sounds.

**Word Count**: 2,971

**Author's Note: **My entry for Round Three of the Quidditch Competition.

I don't know if you've noticed, but I actually don't like to write drama. I focus more on background instead, especially when it's a minor character that actually gives me room to create such a background. I find that infinitely more interesting than having a crazy, convoluted plotline, although of course I do have a WIP with a crazy convoluted plotline... (No, I have not abandoned ASM! I am just swamped with summer school at the moment and barely found enough time to write this competition piece, let alone anything else T_T)

So if you're expecting some sort of raunchy story where Blaise has to fight several people to the death just for a chance to kiss Terry Boot, too bad! My warranty on plot devices expired, and I've been trying to renew them to no avail, thanks to the bureaucracy that is my mind. Also, I suppose I could have gone completely angsty with the prompts I chose, but I thought a positive spin would be more original.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the result :)

* * *

My prompts were:

"He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words." - Elbert Hubbard

"When a war ends, what does that look like exactly?" - Sleeping, Andrea Gibson

* * *

Blaise struggled not to yawn as he sat through another boring Ministry function. This was the price he paid for being a prosecutor, he supposed. It had been very hard to get to this point, since he had been a Slytherin and anti-Slytherin prejudice had been very strong following the war, but with the help of wealth, his mother's influence, and patience, he eventually clawed his way through the door and then proved his competence, time and time again.

There were nights when he'd sit in silence, wherever he was, and contemplate the miracle of his position in society. He did not take any of this for granted. His mother had been a "gold-digger," sure, but he knew more than anyone else why she had become that person. She had spent her childhood on the streets, scavenging for food and avoiding fights, and when a wealthy, eccentric artist type had found her "exotic" face fascinating from the window of his carriage, she was in no position to deny him. Instinctively, she knew that it was her ticket out. The man dressed her up in pretty clothes, married her to establish a claim after she had driven him mad with jealousy, and then died of an overdose of opiates.

After that, there had been a series of wealthy old fools who feigned concern over her widowhood and fought to get into her knickers, and she had played the courtship game well, amassing her wealth and yet also taking care to cultivate friendships with the elite at the same time. Nobody could fault her, even as a few jealous people privately thought she poisoned her husbands. She had a beautiful face and the charm that came from speaking her mind in a carefully polished way, only letting a bit of the "street accent" through when it enhanced her speech and gave her an air of refreshing uniqueness.

"They think I'm a savage in civilised clothes," she had confided to Blaise when he was old enough to understand. "I can either be upset about it, or I can use that to make our lives better. The choice is obvious."

After that, she had patted his curls and said, "Darling, you're the only man I'll ever love. Don't you forget that."

"I love you, too, Mother," he had responded. "But…how do I show that? You show it to me with presents. Should I get you presents, too?"

She chuckled and ruffled his hair. "No! I don't need presents. I can buy my own. No, all I need for you is to do well, okay? Grow up and get a good job. I'll open the door for you. Just do me a favour and step in as quickly as possible. Gets kind of tiring holding it open all the time."

So here he was now, on the other side of the door. He had worked his arse off to even reach the door his mother held open for him. When others in Slytherin thought about joining the Dark Lord, Blaise had carefully kept himself away, and he subtly used his questionable origin to discourage recruiters. After all, was his mother really a pureblood? He knew she was, but others seemed to doubt it, and he carefully encouraged that doubt even as he adamantly claimed pureblood status. The Dark Lord was mostly interested in purebloods with few weak points. He knew Blaise would have been of no use to him.

Throughout his education, Blaise threw himself into his studies, even as his classmates were distracted with the Dark Lord and blood politics. He rarely said much to other people, and this made people respect him more, even those who were not in Slytherin. A kid whose nose was always buried in books was both intelligent and peaceful, the perfect balance. At the same time, though, he observed other people's arguments and took note of how people won them. Once he graduated, he studied law and entered into debates, both officially and on his personal time. Draco Malfoy was a decent debate partner, for example, although he _was_ rather self-absorbed.

Then, through a series of court cases, active lobbying, and careful donations, he had finally been appointed as prosecutor.

Which gave him…this boring Ministry party he had to endure, the one that was still on-going, even after he had killed all that time writing his own autobiography in his head.

"Don't you agree, Prosecutor?" simpered a wiry man sitting next to him.

"Oh, yes, indeed, Lord Mason," he replied, even though he hadn't the foggiest what the man had said.

Mason beamed, however, and the rest of the table nodded in calm complacence. This pleased Blaise, even as his eyes grew blurry with fatigue. As long as these men were willing to fund him, he was happy. Idly, he wondered if his mother had slept with any of them. Probably not. All she needed was to smile, and the men were already in love.

Finally, dinner was over, and the music began as couples headed for the dance floor. He politely excused himself, and the other men smiled, expecting him to woo yet another woman and take her home. He never did that in reality, of course, but he encouraged that sort of thinking. It was useful to have others believe you have a flaw, because then they feel less antagonistic towards you, and besides, a taste for women is not a career-ending flaw. Better that than drugs, he supposed.

He sauntered out onto the floor, ready to pick his next target for appearances' sake, when he noticed a flash of white-blond hair. He turned, and there was Draco, waving his hands animatedly in a series of fierce gestures towards some other man. Interesting. Draco rarely let himself get that passionate in public unless he was talking about potions. Must be a co-worker. Blaise moved over to them, determined to make this new connection and annoy Draco with his increasing presence in his life.

"Greetings, Lord Malfoy," he purred as soon as he got close. After Lucius Malfoy's passing, the title had been transferred to Draco, although he still wasn't quite used to it yet.

He sniffed. "Cut the formality, Blaise. Terry here already knows we're friends." He jabbed his long, pale fingers at the other man, almost hitting him in the chest.

Blaise's eyes had automatically darted towards the other man when following the motion of Draco's fingers, but the man himself was what kept his eyes there. He was of average height with dark brown hair and pale blue eyes, and his face was of the type that Blaise would normally ignore when walking down the street, but his expression held him captivated. His lips were downturned with disapproval, and the muscles around his jaw were tense. Blaise had the overwhelming urge to do something silly, right then and there, just to see what that mouth would look like smiling.

He did not have to resort to performing any jumping jacks, however, for the man turned to Blaise, his mouth morphing into a polite smile as he held his hand out.

"How do you do? I'm Potions Master Terry Boot."

Blaise grimaced at the polite smile. It seemed almost as tense as the frown had been. He took the hand and bent down, pressing his lips against it, grinning as he felt the fingers spasm in his grip.

"Enchanté, monsieur," he murmured against the man's slightly tanned skin. "Je m'appelle Blaise Zabini."

He winced as Draco smacked him on the back.

"Honestly! I will never understand your random whims! I apologise, Terry. Blaise here, despite being a prosecutor now, still thinks he can act as ridiculous as he wants and get no reproach. Well, not in my presence!"

Blaise rolled his eyes, but he let go of Boot's hand, glancing up to see the other man's reaction. His face was slightly flushed, and his lips moved as if trying to form words, but nothing was forthcoming.

It was adorable.

"Anyway, Blaise, as nice as it is to see your face when it's not buried in a book, I happen to have business with Terry here, so move along, please," cut in Draco's voice, ruining his little "moment."

"Does your 'business' have to involve looking like you're about to slap him any moment? Because it will be unfortunate to have to see you in a court of law," he quipped in response.

Draco pulled out his wand, and it sparked warningly. "Away with you! You wouldn't understand our conversation, anyway!"

"Oh, fine. Kill the joy in everything. Farewell, Terry Boot! It was an absolute _pleasure_ to meet you. Owl me?"

"Blaise!"

"Alright! No need to make a scene, Draco. You're not his mum."

Blowing a final kiss towards the now beet-red Boot, Blaise took his leave, heading for the dance floor.

As he twirled around with his undoubtedly attractive dance partner, however, he could not help but sneak glances at Boot, who was now doing his own finger jabbing at Draco.

For a moment, he wished he had gone into potions, too.

Then the song ended, and he pushed the thought away.

* * *

About a month later, Blaise was sitting in a café, pondering what to write in his letter to Mother. She was on vacation in Jamaica, and she had made him promise to keep her updated on his life and activities.

He didn't have much to say, though, since he knew her eyes glazed over whenever he tried to talk about technical legal terms. Not all of his cases were exciting in summary, and for wizarding society in general, that was actually a good thing. It was better to have more cases of petty theft than murder, for example. Yet it was very boring to have to relate to his mother about a witch claiming that she totally couldn't have stolen the book on herbal gardening, since she was shopping for clothes at the exact moment the theft happened, etc.

So Blaise looked around the café in search of something more interesting to write about. Mother found delight in his prose descriptions of settings.

Just as he was getting ready to write about the grumpy old man hugging his scroll of parchment in the corner, however, he noticed a man with dark brown hair, one his eyes had almost skipped over.

It was Boot! Blaise hadn't seen him since the Ministry function, and he hadn't felt it would be right to owl him out of a passing interest, especially since Blaise was the one who had said "Owl me" in the first place. Yet here he was, in the same café, scribbling notes in the margins of a potions book. It was fate.

Blaise knew how to take advantage of fate.

He carried his coffee mug over to Boot's table, setting it down next to his before he could even finish looking up at him.

"Why, hello, Terry! Fancy meeting you here!" He seated himself across from him, smiling winsomely.

"H-Hello, erm, Blaise, was it?" His pale eyes darted around the café, as if silently begging for someone to come save him.

"Yes, it is. How nice of you to remember my name!"

"I-I suppose it's only fair, since you apparently remember mine."

Blaise grinned, resisting the urge to say something about how Boot was someone he could never forget. Too much cheesiness was off-putting, and he did not want Boot to run away so soon.

"How has your work been?" He gestured at the book. "It requires constant studying, does it not?"

Boot smiled faintly, his eyes alight, and Blaise knew he had picked the right subject. "Yes, but that is the joy of it. People think that there's only one correct way to concoct each potion, and it's hard not to assume that when that's the way it's taught, but there are many, many ways to brew a potion, and part of my research is finding out the most efficient ways. For example…"

Blaise leaned in and let the other man's words wash over him as he chattered on about his work. Boot looked beautiful when the frown lines were gone from his face. He almost wanted to reach out and caress that soft cheek, but he knew that such an act would cause the man to withdraw almost as quickly as he opened up. Somehow, he didn't want that to happen.

"And what would happen if you added a unicorn hair to the Bosnell Draught?" prompted Blaise, when Boot paused mid-sentence at some point.

"Oh, no, I've been very rude! I've been talking on and on, and I haven't even asked you a single thing about yourself and your work!"

Blaise grimaced. "Oh, I'm sure you know all there is to know about a prosecutor's job. Nothing novel about it."

Boot shook his head. "I don't like to presume I know anything. I start off with the premise that I know nothing, and then work to fix it. It's quite fun! So teach me something new. What was your most challenging case, and why?"

Staring into his eager face, Blaise found that he couldn't even be as cynical about his job as he usually was. Suddenly, being a prosecutor seemed very glamorous.

"Well, my most challenging case was actually back when I was still a lowly lawyer. You see, a man had gone missing from his manor in Wales…"

* * *

After that, Blaise and Terry had arranged to meet every lunch hour and occasionally on the weekends. It had been a happy coincidence that their workplaces happened to be close to each other, but then again, the fact that they had both gone to the same café probably indicated that their lives would intersect, anyhow. It was just one of those things.

This continued on for a couple of months, and Blaise got to learn a lot about Terry. He had been a Ravenclaw back in Hogwarts, which explained why he enjoyed research so much and also explained why Blaise didn't really remember him. He lived alone in a flat, but he did have a little brother that occasionally crashed his place whenever he got into a dispute with their parents or got brutally dumped by whatever woman he happened to be chasing. In his spare time, Terry actually liked to research even _more,_ beyond the requirements of his job, because learning was a way to give him a feeling of control over his life.

Well, not that he had worded it in that way specifically, of course, but Blaise knew how to read between the lines.

The best part of this relationship, though, was the fact that Terry talked a lot and was actually _interesting_ when he talked. Unlike the men at the Ministry functions, he did not beg for Blaise's approval for political advancement or obligate him to give false compliments. He shared his world with Blaise because he genuinely wanted Blaise to be a part of it, and that was the most flattering feeling of all. And when he _did_ switch gears and asked Blaise to talk about himself, he listened with rapt interest, and Blaise felt a comfort in telling a story to him that he surprisingly did not feel with his own mother.

Maybe it was the fact that Terry appreciated the silences as well as the sounds. His mother had always expected him to either fill the air with chatter or listen as she filled the air with her own chatter, and it was exhausting, sometimes, to have to always come up with something to say. Perhaps that was the reason why he was so withdrawn back in school, along with his studious bent. He had needed the silence, back then, in order to shore up energy for his lively mother. He loved her, of course, and that was why he didn't mind, but with Terry, he felt that the silence in itself was its own conversation. Simple moments like sipping tea together or picking up a fallen object for the other person held a world of meaning for them, even when an outside viewer would think that the moment was insignificant.

It was even better that way. For once, Blaise had something private but not secretive. There was no malicious intent or a fear of discovery, just an unspoken code between two people.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Blaise found that they were falling in love. He had rejected all blind date offers and refused to dance anymore at the Ministry parties, and the people around him noted that he _glowed_, whatever that meant. Even Draco seemed to suspect something, but of course there was no way in hell he'd tell him about his interest in his co-worker just yet.

No, there would be no advertising of this interest until the object of interest himself learned about it first.

* * *

They were standing on a bridge over the River Thames at night, edging themselves away from the still-present bustle of tourists, and Blaise knew that there would never be a cornier moment to do this.

"Terry?"

He turned to look at Blaise, his eyes glimmering like the water below. "Yes?"

Blaise leaned in and kissed him, finally caressing that soft cheek he'd admired since that day in the café.

He felt Terry curling his fingers around Blaise's wrist, but he did not push his hand away.

Finally, Blaise pulled back, looking at him.

Terry smiled and shifted his hand so that he'd be holding Blaise's hand instead of his wrist, and nothing more was said.

And although Blaise was sure that the war was still very much alive for other people in other places, he knew that it was over for them.

Slytherin and Ravenclaw? No, they were just Blaise and Terry, kissing on a bridge.


End file.
